Thekka
by Ikeda Rose
Summary: As her world falls around her, a young vixen struggles to find acceptance and friendship. At odds with prejudice, she leaves her home behind in hopes of a new life. Elsewhere, a warlord finds himself at war with his own mind. Plagued by dreams, he goes in search of the only thing he knows: Power.
1. Prologue: An Heir

**I do not own Redwall, Brian Jacques does. I just own the plot line and any original characters**.

Ulvaey Greeneyes was pacing. The warlord had been waiting outside his tent for several hours, ever since his mate had gone into labor earlier that morning. Of course, the old midwife and her helpers had immediately sent him away, and the warlord was growing anxious. Behind him, a pawful of assorted Zahir hordebeasts had gathered as well. They were murmuring amongst themselves. The birth of a possible heir was a rather momentous occasion, and they wanted to see what would happen.

Ulvaey furrowed his brow as a particulary agonized cry came from the tent. He had never seen the birthing of a kit, but he hadn't expected it to take so long or be so painful. Akal sounded as though she was being flayed alive, and that wasn't an understatement

Suddenly, a young female ferret rushed past Ulvaey and disappeared into the tent with an armload of old cloths. There were voices talking quickly and more screams of anguish, and then silence. Ulvaey held his breath for a long moment. Then, he heard it: the cry of a newborn babe. There were gasps and whispers from the females inside the tent. Ulvaey's brow furrowed, unsure if the murmurings were a good or bad sign. It was several more minutes before the tent flap was pushed aside and Graila the old fox midwife emerged. The trinkets in her ears jangled as she bowed to the warlord. Ulvaey looked at her.

"Well?"

The bent-backed vixen's voice was cracked. "My lord, you have a son."

Ulvaey closed his eyes and breathed too softly for any but him to hear.

"Let me see him."

Graila bowed again and held back the tent flap for the russet-furred fox. Ulvaey surveyed the scene inside. There were five young females seated on the ground, three ferrets, a stoat, and a fox. One of them was dabbing the forehead of a tired looking vixen. Akal was propped up by a pile folded blankets. When Ulvaey entered, the five females bowed their heads respectfully. The warlord waved a paw at them. They seemed strangely reluctant to leave, but Graila nodded and they finally filed out of the tent, taking away buckets and dirty cloths.

Akal opened her eyes and smiled weakly as Ulvaey came to kneel next to her. Her fur was damp with sweat and her breathing was shallow. In her paws was something small, wrapped loosely in a blanket; she unwrapped the bundle it so that Ulvaey could see. The warlord's stern features softened and he put a paw on his wife's shoulder. A tiny foxbabe looked up at them from the bundle; his fur was the same russet tone as his father's and his bright green eyes were full of wonder.

"He has your eyes," Akal said, smiling. "Do you wish to hold him?"

The warlord nodded silently, and Akal handed him the precious bundle. Ulvaey's rough paws cradled the baby fox as gently as possible. He looked into the babe's eyes for a long while, his tattooed face smiling almost kindly. It was an expression that Akal had never seen before. Love and caring were not things expected to be seen in a warlord.

Ulvaey looked down at his wife, and did something that he had never done before with his other mates: he put a paw around Akal and kissed her on the forehead. The vixen smiled weakly. Perhaps the seer, Uka, had seen something in her visions that she would be the bearer of Ulvaey's son. Whatever the reason, Akal cherished her husband's short embrace. Ulvaey pulled back and looked at the babe.

"He'll be strong," he predicted, "Like 'is sire and grandsire."

Ulvaey had ruled the Zahir for ten years, ever since his father's death during an ambush. The warlord had killed his own uncle in the process of declaring his leadership, and with his seer Uka at his side, there was little anybeast could do to stop him. Ulvaey matched his father for mercilessness and cruelty and did not tolerate conspirators among his horde. Any beast unlucky enough to be discovered was beaten without mercy, and then buried alive. A quiet voice pulled the warlord from his memories.

"What shall he be called?" Akal's breathing was breath growing shallower. Ulvaey thought for a moment.

"Uriun," he replied, looking down at the baby fox. The little one had fallen asleep, calmly sucking on his paw.

"_Uriun,_" Akal breathed, "He-," she stopped and let out a shaky breath. There were tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she choked, stroking the soft fur of Uriun's face. She tried kiss her tiny son, but couldn't find the strength. "I lo-," her voice failed and she sank back onto the blankets.

Ulvaey looked at his wife and watched as her limp paw fell from Uriun's face. Akal's brown eyes misted over in death, and then she was gone, never to look upon her son again. Ulvaey was too shocked to make any sound. Then he saw it: blood was beginning to seep through the blankets under her. Ulvaey put a paw on her face.

Just as she had brought him happiness, she was gone, snuffed out like a torch in the wind. Ulvaey looked down at his sleeping son, who would never know his mother, and yet was so peaceful. The fox warlord set him down gently, taking care not to wake the sleeping babe. He lifted Akal's body and hugged her to him. Ulvaey trembled and then, for the second time in his life, he cried.

* * *

At the edge of the camp stood a tent painted with strange and exotic symbols. A faint trail of smoke always seemed to rise from within it. The entrance was flanked by two thin poles that were hung with the feathers and skulls of birds. Inside, half hidden in a fog of cedar smoke, the seer Uka tossed a handful of bones onto the ground. The vixen closed her pale eyes and chanted in a low voice, moving her paws over the arrangement. Her head swayed slowly, making the strings of bone and amber around her neck clink together.

After a few moments, the seer opened her eyes and bowed her head. She had already foreseen this tragedy; Akal was a bright spirit in the world of the Zahir horde. Her loss would not be easily forgotten. The seer sighed as she returned the bones and feathers to an eel skin bag. She had chosen to withhold her vision from Ulvaey. There would have been no way to save the vixen; even Uka did not have that kind of power.

The seer put the eel skin bag around her neck and took her gnarled pine staff before making her way across the camp to Ulvaey Greeneyes' tent. As she approached, the crowd of Zahir vermin stood aside to let her pass. Many of them felt uneasy around the strange vixen; as if they feared she would put a curse or spell on them.

Uka stopped outside the tent and waited a few moments before entering. Once she did, her vision was confirmed. Ulvaey sat on the ground next to the body of Akal, which was now covered with a blanket. His newborn son was cradled in his arms, fast asleep. The warlord looked up at Uka with narrowed, baleful eyes. The moistness of old tears stained the fur under them. He did not speak, but Uka knew better than to say anything. She was turning to leave, when Ulvaey spoke.

"You knew this would happen, didn't you?" the warlord's voice was low, cold as ice and as sharp as steel. "You knew she was going to die."

Uka was caught off guard. She thought carefully before responding. She began shakily.

"I-I did not want to upset you, my Lord-"

"At least I would 'ave had a chance to tell 'er I loved 'er, but now-," Ulvaey broke off for fear that he would start shouting and wake Uriun. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. Uka watched with bated breath. After a long moment, Ulvaey opened his eyes again. The angry fire in them had subsided. Uka glanced at him, not sure what to do or say.

"Never mind," Ulvaey said "What's done is done."

Uka had never heard Ulvaey talk like this. He was a creature who had no caring emotions. He concerned about keeping his horde in line, not loving another creature. The seer took a chance and spoke.

"Who will raise him, my lord, since he no longer has a mother?" Immediately, she regretted going so far and waited for Ulvaey to lose his temper. Instead, the warlord stood slowly and walked over to her.

"You will find a female to take care of 'im until he can walk an' talk on 'is own. Then I will raise him and teach him of the Zahir. But I have no knowledge of caring for infants"

Uka nodded and then took Uriun from him, holding the sleeping babe gently.

"I will give him to Saba," she said. "She will care for him."

Saba was Akal's cousin, a young female who had recently given birth to a baby vixen. Sadly, Saba's newborn had died not long after the birth, leaving the young vixen and her mate, Cuvan, without the joy of a little daughter. Uka knew it would be hard for the Saba to care for a babe that was not her own and then have to give him up, but no one would give him better care than a close relative. Ulvaey nodded.

"Very well," he turned and strode out of the tent, throwing aside the flap with a flourish of his paw. He stood with his head held regally and addressed the now large crowd of hordebeasts.

"My mate has given me a son, and in doing so, she has died." There was murmuring among the crowd and several creatures bowed their heads in reverence. Ulvaey continued emotionlessly. "We will burn her, this night on the ridge. By next full moon, we go north."

As soon as he Ulvaey finished speaking, the group began to disperse. The warlord gave orders to a select few creatures. "Orin, Vini."

A brown stoat and a short, wiry ferret appeared at Ulvaey's side.

"Yes m'lord?"

Ulvaey addressed the stoat first.

"Take half a score of creatures and gather wood for the pyre. And make sure that it is built on the dirt and that there is no grass to catch; I don't want there to be any chance of it getting out of control, not with all this dry weather."

Orin nodded and put his right paw on his left shoulder in salute before jogging off. Ulvaey turned to the ferret.

"Vini, take Halfpelt, Rebane, and Baitpaw and scout north; stay to the coast. Take note of food and water supplies and any settlements, vermin or otherwise. Report back before the full moon."

"Wot if we do find set'lements, lord?"

"Observe them, estimate numbers, but do not make yourselves known. I don't want to deal with enemies who are already expecting us."  
"Aye, m'lord," Vini saluted and was gone.

Ulvaey watched him go and then turned on his heel and strode back into the tent. Uka stood there holding little Uriun. The babe had awoken and was crying softly.

The warlord ran a paw gently over the infant's head.

"Take 'im ta Saba," he said "I 'spect 'e's 'ungry by now."

Uka bowed. "Yes, lord."

* * *

The funeral for Akal was a somber yet beautiful affair. For all the killing the Zahir did, they made up for it with their burial techniques. Zahir always buried their dead, unless the creature had done something that made them unworthy of a proper burial, such as murdering another hordebeast in cold blood or worse, conspiring against authority, the punishment for both of which was death.

Common hordebeasts were buried in simple graves, but the funeral for a chief or a high standing creature was quite elaborate. It consisted of a wooden pyre, on which was laid the body of the deceased. No words were spoken at these funerals, but there would be a time of silence, after which the current chief or a relative of the deceased would walk to the pyre and set fire to it. Afterwards, the ashes would be gathered and buried. So it was with Akal.

The vixen's body was carried to the pyre by four strong ferrets. Akal looked beautiful. Her fur had been washed and brushed so that it shone in the torchlight. She was dressed a white shift that spread over her footpaws like water. Her paws were crossed over her chest, and a sprig of blooming heather had been placed between them.

Quiet sobbing was the only sound as the ferrets approached the pyre. There were few females in the horde, and many of them had come to love the quiet vixen.

Saba and her mate Cuvan stood at the front of the group. The vixen was clothed in black, from her dress to the strip of mourning cloth tied around her left ear. In her arms was little Uriun, who was amusing himself by trying to reach the black cloth. Saba made a soft noise to quiet him and held him close. Her mate put a paw on her shoulder.

As the four ferrets reached the pyre, Ulvaey Greeneyes appeared from behind it. He made way for the ferrets to pass and then watched as they laid Akal's body on top of the wood. The vixen looked as if she was merely sleeping.

Uka appeared moments later in a jangle of trinkets. She made her way over to the pyre and produced a small amulet from the depths of her cloak. It was as small leaf carved from dark onyx. The seer laid it across Akal's folded paws and then stepped back and bowed her head. Her acknowledgement was done.

Once she moved, Ulvaey stepped forward. He stood to the side of the pyre and took a small knife from his belt. He carefully sheared off a tuft of fur from his neck and placed it under Uka's amulet. A rat standing close by handed Ulvaey a torch. The warlord held it aloft and then put it to the wood. From there, the flame grew, licking at the wood and oil until the pyre was ablaze.

Ulvaey stepped back from the flame and watched the pyre as it burned, sending embers into the darkening sky. His face was a mask. Even Akal's death had not made him weak; he was still the warlord of the Zahir, as ruthless as ever. The light from the flaming pyre made his green eyes flicker and cast a strange smoky shadow over his face. He was strong.

* * *

**How many times did i type the word 'pyre' ? I'm going to be saying in my sleep now.**


	2. Prologue: An Outcast

**Disclaimer- **_The lullaby that Graila sings is an old welsh song from 1879. The original song title is Under Yonder Oaken Tree, and the English lyrics were written by George Linley. I changed the lyrics a bit to fit the setting of the story. I don't own Redwall either._

* * *

Two weeks after Akal's funeral, the Zahir horde broke camp. Despite probable belief, it was a surprisingly organized affair. Being a semi-nomadic group, there were few possessions that could not be carried of one's back or pulled behind on a sledge.

When the horde was traveling, the warlord would be near the front with his captains. In front of them would be the lowest ranking hordebeasts; those who could easily be dispatched and replaced should the horde be attacked. Behind the warlord would be the rest of the fighting beasts, and then behind those would come the few females and the young, with a few armed beasts spread throughout them as protection.

It was here that Saba walked, a basket of blankets held in her paws, and little Uriun resting in a sling on her back. The young vixen had already come to love the little babe and was taking care of him as Akal would have. Saba missed her cousin. Akal had been like a sister to her, and had been a great comforter when she and Cuvan had lost their newborn daughter, Makir. It was strange to think that she was gone.

Saba balanced the basket on her hip and wiped a paw across her brow. The summer sun beat down mercilessly on the horde, and the vixen was glad that she had covered Uriun's head. It would have been horrible if he were to die of heat stroke. Saba licked her dry lips and brought up her water flask only to discover that it was bone dry. The vixen was confused at first, but then realized that with all the fuss over Uriun, she had forgotten to fill it before departing. Saba sighed in frustration. Of all the days to forget to fill her water flask, it had to be this one. Now she would probably get heat stroke.

"Need some water?" Saba looked up to see Cuvan grinning down at her, a canteen held in his paw. The vixen nodded and took the flask from her mate. She took a long sip.

"Thank you," Cuvan took the canteen it and gestured to her water flask.

"'Ere, gimme that," Saba handed him the flask and Cuvan filled it full from the canteen. "I need ta get back to the front," Cuvan said. "I'll find ya soon as we stop fer the night," he planted a rough kiss on the top of Saba's head and trotted off.

The vixen smiled; she was lucky to have a mate who genuinely cared for her. Many of her friends were not so lucky. Saba changed her grip on the basket and continued walking.

Around mid-day, the females of the horde stopped at a stream to refill water flasks. Saba was joined by her friends, Gressa and Kelal, two female ferrets about the same age. Uriun was now awake and looking around from his place in the sling. At only two weeks old, he was already curious about the world around him.

"Is 'e doin' well?" Kelal asked. Saba nodded

"Yes, he keeps squirming, eager little beast," she looked behind and grinned at Uriun. "I think you're tired of sitting still, aren't you?" The vixen undid the sling and carefully set Uriun on the ground. The babe made curious squeaking noises, then rolled over on his side and crawled a on the grass, green eyes wide with wonder.

"I 'ope I neva' 'ave one." Gressa stated. "Don't fink I coul 'andle it." She gave a gruff laugh that the other two joined in with. It was true; Saba could not picture Gressa as a mother. The ferret did not have the most caring personality and was quite lazy at times. Still, Saba made friends with whom she could.

"I still can't b'lieve tha' e's Ulvaey's son," Kelal said, "'E looks so carefree and li'tle. 'Ard t' fink tha' e'll be a warlord when 'e's all growed up."

Saba nodded. She wished so much that the little babe was hers, that she would be able to keep him as her own. In a mere matter of seasons, Ulvaey would take over and give him the makings of fighter. Though thinking of it brought a pang of sadness to Saba's heart, the depressing feeling was soon brushed aside as the trio conversed, laughing and telling jokes. Suddenly, the vixen remembered that she needed to find Graila. She cast a glance around her at the other females, but the old vixen midwife was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Saba couldn't remember having seen her at all.

"Have you seen Graila?" She asked. Gressa and Kelal shook their heads.

"She's prob'ly gone an' fallen asleep un'a some tree," Gressa said with another brusque laugh.

However, at that very moment, Graila was not even with the horde. The midwife had slipped away and was currently making her way through thick, tangled undergrowth, following the creek to the east. Her breathing was labored and she was wheezing from the heavy, moist air of the summer. Twigs and thorns snagged the vixen's cloak. More than once, she stumbled and muttering out curses, nearly lost her grip on the small bundle that was clutched in her paws.

Despite this, the old vixen quickened her pace; she needed to finish her task before she was left behind. Graila went a little farther and suddenly stumbled out of the shadow of the trees and onto a sandy bank. She doubled over and began to cough hoarsely. The noise spooked a wren, who flew in alarm and left the vixen spooked herself.

Graila stood still for moment, her breath the only sound besides the running creek. Then, the bundle in her paws moved and she remembered what she was holding it. Graila knelt on the bank and set the bundle down gently. She carefully undid the cloth, revealing a fox babe with. The little vixen blinked at the sudden light and looked sleepily at the old midwife. Graila smiled and lifted the tiny creature close to nuzzle her head. The baby vixen made a muffled crying noise.

"Shhhh, sh, sh," said Graila. She began to hum an old lullaby, rocking the little fox back and forth to the gentle rhythm of the song.

_"Under yonder oaken tree whose branches oft me shaded, little creatures dance with glee when day's last beam hath faded. Then while the stars shine brightly, so airy, light and sprightly, 'Till Chanticleer tells dawn is near, they trip it, trip it lightly._

_Yet no trace of them is seen when morning rays are glancing. Not one paw print on the green shows that they were dancing. Oh! Where are they abiding? In what lone valley hiding? Come next with me and we will see little creatures homewards gliding."_

Slowly, the vixen stopped crying and began to fall asleep. Graila carefully laid her back down on the soft cloth, wrapping it around her. The tiny creature was so peaceful, so small and so full of memories. Still, those memories needed to be forgotten. For a single moment, Graila considered drowning the babe in the river, but she decided against it. Perhaps fortune would favor the little vixen and she would be found.

Graila moved the babe under the shade of an oak tree well away from the water. She glanced around quickly, making sure that no beast had seen her and looked at the babe one last time before disappearing into the dense foliage, never to return.

Alone now, the tiny vixen lay beneath the tall oak, sleeping peacefully. She was completely unaware of anything but her dreams.

* * *

The summer sun stood high over Wrensong Creek. Birds warbled in the trees, serenading each other with sweet compositions. This particular morning, they were joined by an ottermaid who was making her way along the riverbank, humming to herself as she went. Her name was Kettu Streamgale, and she was heading back to her village, which lay about three miles up the creek.

The otter suddenly stopped humming as she came to a sandy bank. A bundle lay on the ground beneath a nearby oak tree; a crying bundle. Kettu rushed over and got quite a shock. Lying before her was baby vixen. Kettu was dumbfounded. What in the world was the babe doing here? She wasn't very old, maybe a few weeks or so, certainly not old enough to be left alone.

Kettu inspected the ground around the babe. There were the tracks of a fox, a female from their size that went off into the woods. Kettu studied the tracks carefully; they were no less than two days old. The babe had been abandoned recently. Suddenly the vixen made a little gurgling sound, causing the otter to look down at her. The little russet creature was staring at the otter with big, innocent eyes.

Almost immediately, Kettu's heart was filled with love and motherly instinct. She reached down and picked up the tiny fox, cradling her gently. What kind of heartless beast would leave a helpless babe to starve to death? Kettu looked into the vixen's eyes; they were green, like new moss after a storm.

The babe suddenly let out a joyful squeal and reached up to try to grab Kettu's whiskers. The otter smiled.

"Well, 'ello there little 'un.'Ow did you get here?" Kettu knew it was silly to talk to a babe, but it brought her happiness just the same because she had no kits of her own back at the village, only her mate, Shad. The otter looked at the vixen for a long time. She wanted so much to have a child that she could love and care for. Perhaps this babe was the answer to her prayers.

But what would the tribe think? While Shad would no doubt stand with her, Kettu was almost sure that the tribe elders would not approve of the vixen. The vixen was small and innocent looking now, yes, but what would happen when she grew up? Kettu was torn. She couldn't very well leave the babe to die. No, she wouldn't.

"Don't you cry anymore," Kettu said. "From now on, I'm gonna look after ye," with that she turned and continued walking along the bank. She would be this creature's mother, no matter what was said. Every beast deserved a fair chance in life, and this little fox was no different. Kettu would raise her the way all good mothers raised their kits. She would be the kindest, most well-mannered vixen anybeast had ever met. Kettu hugged the babe to her as she walked.

* * *

"Absolutely not!"

As soon as Kettu returned to the village, a small group of elder otters had gathered in Shad's and her hut. One of them had just expressed his opinion of Kettu adopting the baby vixen quite forcefully. Shad raised a paw to the elder.

"Peace, Datu," he said, respectfully but firmly. "I'm sure my wife has a very good reason for her decision," he turned to Kettu. The ottermaid glanced at him and the scrutinized the assembled group.

"I couldn't just leave 'er, she woulda died."

"Better she die than terrorize us," one of the otters scoffed. Kettu gapped at him.

"I can't b'lieve you'd say that. You sound no better than vermin ye'selves."

Several elders were taken aback by the comment, but Kettu kept her shoulders squared.

"I ain't askin' you ta take care of her," she reasoned. "All I want to do is raise 'er as my own daughter," there was silence, and then one of the otters spoke. His tone was not angry, but admonishing.

"You know what vermin are like, Kettu," he said. "They have no caring feelings, no matter how big or small. You will see that when she grows up,"

Kettu swallowed and exhaled. "I refuse to believe that. If anything happens, I will take responsibility for it," she looked at Shad, hoping for his approval. He was the current leader of the village, and the final decision was his. There was silence as the tall otter thought. He finally looked at the assembly.

"I agree with Kettu," he said. "If she wished to care for the young'un, I see no reason to deny her request." There was grumbling muttering among a few of the elders, but they all eventually agreed with Shad. One of them stopped and turned, fixing Kettu with a grave stare.

"Mark me, you be makin' a mistake bringing that babe 'ere. Vermin are vermin, they can't be changed by any amount of nurturing," Kettu returned his gaze.

"Well, ye may think that, but yer wrong."

The otter scoffed and left the hut, leaving Shad and Kettu alone. The tall otter chieftain looked at his wife.

"Do you believe them?" Kettu said. Shad looked at the little vixen; she was gazing up at him with curiosity. The male smiled.

"No," he said, "I think you're right. What she is does not decide who she will be." he put and arm around Kettu. "What are you going to call 'er?"

The ottermaid thought for a moment, and then smiled.

"Thekka."


	3. Huckleberries

**Disclaimer: I own my characters and plot.**

* * *

It was dawn. The sun was just beginning to peek over the tree tops, chasing away the gray morning fog. Birds awoke and began their early serenade, exchanging snippets and twitters of sweet music. Below them, Thekka Streamgale was already making her way through her village. Thekka liked being out in the morning. The ground was cool and there was a calming stillness in the air.

This morning, the vixen carried a large gathering basket. Her mother needed huckleberries, and Thekka had jumped at the opportunity for a morning walk. It wasn't that Thekka hated the hustle and bustle of the village, but it sometimes became too much, and there were few moments when one could be truly alone. It seemed that she just wasn't as family oriented as the rest of the otters.

The Streamgale village was laid out on a patch of high ground that was bordered on the south by a large side stream, a fork off the main stretch of Wren Song creek. It consisted of twenty or so family groups, as well as a collection of passersby and others who had settled there. Thekka's adoptive father Shad was the current overseer of the village. He was a good leader, compassionate and aware of the feelings of others.

At the eastern end of the village, a narrow path twisted down to the river. Thekka passed by a stagnant stand of reed filled water. Frogs croaked from the cover of vegetation. A few more feet and the vixen came to the mudflats and the start of the marsh that surrounded half of the village. She skirted the masses of cattails and rushes, and the shrimp flats, then made her way through bushes and saplings until she came upon the fork in stream. Wrensong Creek was actually a small river. It was about seven yards wide and was bordered by old, gnarled trees. Thekka stole quietly along the bank. The warm summer wind rifled through her russet fur and ruffled the edges her tunic as she made her way through the ferns.

True to the creek's name, the sweet voice of a wren filled the air. Thekka looked around, scanning the trees for the little bird. She finally spotted him sitting in the swaying branches of an ancient willow. Suddenly, the bird ceased in his joyful song and became completely still, crouching low to the tree branch in fear.

Thekka put a paw on the dagger that was stuck in her belt. Her sharp ears turned in all directions to catch the sound of breaking twigs or rustling ferns. She sniffed the air, but there was only the sweet, fresh smell of wildflowers. The sky was free of crows or falcons. What was the wren afraid of? Suddenly, the bird looked right at her and Thekka realized that she was the cause of his sudden fear.

The young vixen sighed in frustration. She hated when she was viewed as dangerous. But what could she expect? She was a fox, and every beast knew that foxes were vermin and vermin were nothing but trouble. Thekka didn't want to be viewed as dangerous, but there really was nothing to be done about it other than to act as much like a goodbeast as she could.

The vixen resumed her trek through the knee-deep ferns, pausing every so often to brush away low hanging branches and pesky flies. After a few minutes, she heard wren again. The danger was gone.

A normal fox would have probably taken no interest in the wren at all, but Thekka was not a normal fox, at least, that was what she had learned over the years. She had been brought up in the ways of the Streamgale clan for as long as she could remember. As far as the vixen was concerned, Kettu was her mother and Shad was her father. Thekka had often thought about who had left her beside the stream bank, but no matter how many times she'd asked, the answer was always the same: all Kettu knew about it was that the creature had been a female fox. Such a creature had never been seen again since Kettu had brought her back, or vermin of any kind for that matter.

As much as Thekka loved her adopted life with the Streamgale's, she knew full well that being a fox in a clan of otters had its disadvantages. Many of the older otters had disapproved of Kettu's adopting her. Thekka tried to show that she could be a kind and civil creature but even after all these years, many still did not totally trust her. When she was little, whenever things went missing mysteriously, or something else out of the ordinary happened, all eyes had immediately turned to Thekka as the prime suspect; most of the time, it hadn't even been her fault. Kettu always turned a deaf ear to every single word and told Thekka to do the same, but that didn't always stop the accusations…

_A much younger Thekka was walking along the mudflats with a basket of shrimp. As she came to the path, she noticed an ash walking stick half hidden in the underbrush. The vixen put down her basket and picked up the stick. It was polished and carved with little leaves and curly cues. Thekka suddenly remembered that there was an old otter who had been ranting about somebeast hiding his walking cane. The young fox perked up; if she returned the stick, he would thank her, and everyone would see that she was an honest creature after all. _

_Thekka fairly ran to the village with the cane, completely forgetting her basket of shrimp. She went around the huts and nearly collided with the old otter she had been seeking. Thekka steadied herself and looked up at him with a smile. As soon as he saw the cane, the otter's eyes widened. Before Thekka could explain, he grabbed the cane and smacked her over the shoulder, knocking her to the ground._

"_Ya little thief!" he yelled, attracting the attention of half a dozen other Streamgale otters. "So you're the one who swiped my walkin' stick! Kettu won't have an excuse ta back ye up this time!" he smacked her again. Thekka was so shocked, both from the false accusation and the sting of the otter's blows that she didn't respond. She sat gaping at the fuming otter before sprinting from the scene as fast as she could, running blindly through the village. She raced past the forgotten shrimp basket and kept running into to the woods as tears welled up in her eyes. _

_Why was she always blamed for things she hadn't done? Did being a vixen come with an assumed reputation for trouble? She knew she was different, but surely that wasn't an excuse to accuse her without any cause. Thekka never wanted to go back to the Holt again. Oh, how she hated that old otter! _

_The young fox ran until her legs gave out from exhaustion and she stumbled over a root. She lay on the ground for a time before finally curling into a little ball against a gnarled maple tree. Tears came from her eyes in torrents, flowing freely like water from a broken beaver dam. _

_Thekka didn't know how long she cried, but the night soon came, surrounding her like a cloak, filled with all manner of strange sounds and shadows. She was alone in the woods, lost and too scared to leave the safety of her tree trunk. _

_After what seemed like hours, she saw light through the leaves and heard a voice._

"_Thekka, Thekkaaaa!" _

_The little vixen looked up with wide eyes; could it be? Yes, it was!_

_Moments later, Kettu burst through the underbrush holding a lantern. She sighed in relief. _

"_Oh, thank goodness! What in the world are you doing out here?" she pulled Thekka into a tight otter hug. Fresh tears came to vixen's eyes as she told Kettu the story._

_The ottermum looked her in the eyes. _"_You will always be my daughter," she said, and planted a rough kiss between Thekka's ears, "No matter what anyone else says. Now come on." _

_They made their way back to the village. When they returned, Kettu gave her some hot shrimp stew. Thekka felt much better after that. Shrimp stew was Kettu's cure-all. It could fix anything from a bad cold to a broken spirit..._

Thekka was so engrossed in her memory that she nearly collided with a low-hanging tree branch. She ducked at the last second and narrowly avoided a painful bruise. She paused for a moment to regain her balance, and then continued down the bank. A short while later, the tree line gave way to an open brush and cattail clearing and Wrensong Creek curved to the right, running around another stand of trees and back into the forest

Before her, on a sunny knoll at the creek bend lay hundreds of huckleberry bushes, their branches heavy with sweet, blue fruit. Thekka splashed across the shallow creek and walked a little ways into the field of berry clad bushes, knowing that the best ones would be near the center. There wasn't an otter alive who could resist one of Kettu's famous huckleberry turnovers. Just thinking about the pastries made Thekka's mouth water.

The vixen reached a patch of berries that she deemed to be just ripe enough for picking. She sampled a few and smiled as the sweet juice wet her lips; they were excellent. Thekka took the large woven basket and began to fill it with huckleberries. Every so often, she would eat a few, but not too many. She didn't want to make the trek back on a full stomach.

As Thekka worked, the mid-morning sun beat down on her back. A warm, huckleberry scented breeze blew playfully through her fur. The basket was filled much sooner than expected. The vixen stood up and quickly ate a few more berries before making her way out of the field. She washed her juice-stained paws and wiped them on her tunic before finding her trail back through the ferns. She needed to hurry; it was a long walk back and she didn't want to be late for lunch.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky when Thekka reached the mudflats. The vixen adjusted the heavy basket and moved her shoulders around. The entire walk back, the straps had been digging into her shoulders. She was relieved that she was almost home. Thekka brushed aside tree branches and reeds and decided to walk along the wide mudflats. The wet ground was soft and warm under her foot paws, and the sandy mud squelched between her toes. The creek drabbled quietly next to her, flashing with tiny silver fish.

Thekka remembered when she was younger and would come here with Kettu to trap shrimp. She would always sink her toes into the mud and laugh because it tickled. Sometimes, she would scare tiny mud crabs from their homes in the wet ground and they would scurry around madly and make a break for the water. They were so funny to watch because they always ran sideways, some would move so fast that they tumbled over themselves. Kettu would tell her not to scare the crabs, but Thekka would be having too much fun; she would scare them when the ottermum wasn't looking.

Thekka had grown up since then, but she still found it fun to squeeze her toes in the mud. The vixen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The damp air smelled of soil and moss and huckleberries; it was the smell of summer. The birds singing in the trees and the laughing creek with its swaying trees made her smile; she could never imagine feeling at home anywhere else.

"Raaaah!"

Suddenly, something leapt from the cattails. Thekka screamed and jumped away, losing some of the huckleberries in the process. Her friend Bluepaw took one look at her surprised face and burst out laughing. Thekka's look of surprise turned quickly to anger.

"You…rogue!" She sputtered and began raining blows on the big otter. "Ya promised you wouldn't do that anymore!" Bluepaw dodged her flailing paws.

"I never promised anything - ow! Hey, that one hurt."

"Good."

Bluepaw smirked, "Aw, come on, Thek, it was just a little scare, dat's all. Ya shoulda seen yer face!" The otter clutched his stomach as his laughter resumed. Thekka looked at him indignantly, paws akimbo.

"A little scare? I almost fell into the river!"

"Naw, I woulda caught you… maybe."

Thekka gave him a final on the arm. The tall otter put on a hurt face.

"Gah, not so hard, mate, I need that for the watersparring match." He flexed his muscles impressively.

The vixen scoffed. "Ya call those muscles? They look more like little twigs ta me."

"Is that so? Well, they're strong enough to lift you," Bluepaw wrapped his arms around the vixen, basket and all, and lifted her clear off the ground. "Not bad, eh?"

Thekka rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright, put me down."

"If I do, will you say sorry?"  
"I'll make you sorry you scared me."

"Fair enough," Bluepaw put her down. The vixen readjusted the straps of her basket.

"The watersparring match isn't for another five days, I'm sure you'll recover by then."

She cast the otter a wry grin. The otter chuckled. Then he eyed the basket.

"Whatcha got there?" he tried to see around her shoulder, bouncing like a little kit. Thekka shoved him away.

"That's none 'a your business."

Bluepaw made a sad face. "Aw, come on, lemme see."

"No!"

"Wait…you smell like huckleberries," his jaw dropped. "When'd you get huckleberries!"

"Where d'ya think I've been all morning, huh?" Thekka smirked. "And you don't get any because you scared me," she walked away.

Bluepaw caught her arm. "Aw, come on Thekka, I didn't mean to scare you, really I didn't"

"Right."

"Please, just a little handful?"

"No."

"Seven?"

"No."

"Five,"

"No."

"Three?"

"No."

"One; come on, Thekka, please?"

"Eat the ones on the ground if yer so famished!"

Bluepaw seemed to consider this momentarily. "If I walk you back to the Holt, will you give me one?"

Thekka crossed her arms. "Maybe," she said finally. She shrugged. "Who knows, I might need protection against some terrifyin' beast that's a'waitin' ta scare me," she gave Bluepaw a look.

The otter chuckled. "Don't worry, that's my job."

Thekka shoved him and they both laughed as they walked to the village.

Bluepaw was Thekka's best friend. They had been friends for most of their lives, ever since Kettu took Thekka to the mudflats for the first time. Thekka would always remember that meeting. Bluepaw was a skinny, wild eyed kit then. He was shorter than Thekka, though he was nearly a year older, and he had chased her up and down the mudflat with leeches until she finally shoved him into the stream. They were inseparable after that.  
Nearly seventeen seasons had gone by since. Bluepaw was nearly a head taller than Thekka now, and he was a fine example of a grown male otter, but he still had a dash of the wild-eyed kit left in him. However, Bluepaw wasn't one to be prejudiced, and that was why Thekka liked him. He was kind and accepted her for who she was looked past the fact that she was a vixen and treated her like a fellow otter. Bluepaw was very good company to keep. He could always lighten up a moment with his joking personality, but he was also a shoulder to cry on if one was needed. There were plenty of times that Thekka had needed a shoulder to cry on. Bluepaw had always been there, ready to listen. The vixen was truly thankful to have him as a friend.

As the two creatures entered the village, they were met by two of Bluepaw's friends, Shora and Fen. Both otters had shrimp nets thrown over their shoulders.

"Oi, Bluepaw!" Shora waved a paw. "We're going out ta trap some shrimp!"

The otter promised to join them later and the two kept walking.

As the others passed, Thekka nudged Bluepaw. "You coulda gone with them, mate. You don't have to walk me all the way back home."

Bluepaw looked at her incredulously. "Now, why would I pass up the promise'a huckleberries, hm?" He raised his eyebrows. "No miss, I'm stayin' right here until ye keep yer promise."

Thekka shook her head in frustration. There was no winning an argument with Bluepaw.

The two friends walked through the village, greeting other otters as they passed. It was a beautiful day and every beast seemed to have moved their chores outside. Some were grinding wild rice flour, some sat mending shrimp nets or sewing. A few young kits were eating an early lunch in the shade of some trees. Thekka smiled at them. Kits were such a joy; they were full of energy and seemingly constant reasons to smile and laugh. A few of the young ones waved as they passed. Thekka smiled and waved back. She kept the smile as they walked on, passing between two of the huts

"Lookin' mighty pleased with yerself, eh?" Thekka and Bluepaw were suddenly stopped by an old gray-furred otter who was leaning on a worn ash cane. He scrutinized Thekka with squinty eyes.

"Weren't getting' inta no mischief were ye?"

Thekka shook her head. "'Course not."

The old otter nodded slowly. Bluepaw saw where the conversation was going and cut in.

"Thekka wouldn't get inta any mischief; she went out to get some huckleberries."

The old otter scoffed under his breath. "Prol'ly took'em from some poor beast,"

Bluepaw rolled his eyes. "Daran, Thekka wouldn't take half a morning ta steal huckleberries, now would she?"

Daran gave Thekka another look and pointed his cane at her. "You may fool others missy, but I'll ne'er be fooled. I've known plenty' a vermin like ye and they all be the same in the end." With that, the otter turned and shuffled away, leaving the two creatures in shocked silence. Bluepaw saw Thekka's angered face and put a comforting arm around her.

"Aw, don' lissen to him, Thek. He's just prej'diced is all. Don't let 'im bother ya."

Thekka sighed. She was used to the mixed acceptance that she received from the clan, and normally ignored it, but Daran made her made her particulary bitter. He was the same otter who had accused her of stealing his cane. Since then, she had tried to avoid him if at all possible.

Thekka was glad that Bluepaw had not gotten angry. He was one to go off at things like this, especially if they concerned her. It was just who he was, always protective of his close friends. Thekka was happy about this, but she didn't want others to feel obligated to stand up for her. She wanted to be accepted for what she herself did.

Just then, the two reached Thekka's hut. They stopped in front of the cloth-draped doorway. Bluepaw turned to Thekka

"Well, this is where I leave ya," he held out his paw and waited. Thekka rolled her eyes

"Oh, alright," she put the basket and taking out a pawful of berries. She ceremoniously placed them into Bluepaw's out-stretched paw. "For your kind deed of escortin' me back home, sir."

The otter took the berries eagerly

"Well, thank ye kindly, miss," he made a mock bow to the vixen. Thekka smirked

"Why are you still here? Go find Shora an' Fen afore they think yer a lazy beast."

"'M n't 'azy," Bluepaw insisted through a mouthful of berries. He swallowed and then began to walk away, then turned back.

"Ya don't s'pose I could-"

"Go!" Thekka jerked a paw towards the mudflats. Bluepaw held up his paws defensively

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'."

Thekka made her way into the hut. Inside, Kettu was busy cutting up a pile of greens. The savory smell of shrimp wafted from a kettle simmering on the hearth. Thekka walked over to the wooden table by the fireplace. She gave her adopted mother a kiss on the cheek and then popped a piece of shrimp into her mouth. Kettu slapped the vixen's paw lightly.

"Don't snitch," she said. "There's plenty in the soup," the ottermum added the pile of chopped greens to the kettle. As she did, Thekka quickly snatched another piece of shrimp.

"Where 'ave you been?" Kettu asked when she came back. Thekka hefted the basket of berries onto the table.

"Gettin' these. Yew said ye needed huckleberries, didn't you?"

Kettu's eye widened. "Yes, but, I didn't expect so many! We'll have enough turnovers for a month," she covered the basket with a cloth and set it in the corner.

Thekka shrugged. "I'm surprised that many made it into the basket. I think I was eatin' every other one."

Kettu looked at her began to laugh. "Every other one? Well, I 'ope your not too full for lunch."

Thekka looked surprised. "Me, too full for lunch?" Kettu smiled and ruffled Thekka's fur.

"Good," she turned and began filling two wooden bowls with the steaming soup. Thekka put her knife sheath on a hook in the wall and noticed that Shad's knife and pole were gone.

"Shad go fishing?"

"Thought he'd enjoy the summer air," Kettu handed Thekka a bowl of soup. "It is a beautiful day, what say we eat outside? I've been cooped up in this stiflin' place all morning," the otter took off her head scarf and followed Thekka out of the hut. They made their way behind the structure and sat on a fallen tree in the shade of a young maple.

"So," Kettu said as they ate the soup, "you like it?" Thekka swallowed a mouthful and nodded vigorously. "Good. I added some extra onion an' parsley to it this time so I wasn't sure."

Thekka gave her adoptive mother a skeptical look. "Since when 'as anything you've cooked tasted bad?"

Kettu laughed. "Oh, b'lieve me, I wasn't always a good cook," she leaned close and whispered in Thekka's ear. A grin spread across the vixen's face.

"No!" She said when Kettu pulled away. The otter nodded

"Aye, 'afore I married Shad I was a terrible cook; I coulda burned water."

"But, you can cook jus' fine now, did some mir'cle 'appen?"

Kettu giggled. "I begged Shad's ole mum ta teach me, and thank me rudder I did. I'd have never lasted, wot with the way that old rogue eats,"

Both females began to giggle. It was true, Shad's stomach never seemed to be full, and it was amazing to Thekka how he could stay fit even when he consumed vittles like a hare. The vixen downed the rest of her soup and licked some stray drops from her muzzle "Does Shad know?" she asked. Kettu shook her head.

"Oh, great seasons, no! And I don't intend for him to, either. He'd never let me live it down. No, to him it's as if I've always been the best cook in the world." The smallest of grins began to form on Thekka's face. Kettu frowned.

"Oh, no, don't you think about tellin' anybeast about this, ya hear? One word and you won't be gettin' a single one of those turnovers,"

Thekka grinned and squeezed the otter's shoulder.

"Don' worry, your secret's safe with me. Cross me heart."

Kettu still looked skeptical.

"Not. One. Word."

Thekka nodded solemnly. The ottermum smiled and picked up her soup bowl.

"Well, wot say we get an early start on those turnovers?"

They went back inside, washed their bowls, and then began the baking process. Kettu decided to make only a few turnovers for the family and save the rest of the berries for the clan gathering. They washed a small portion the berries, and then let them soak in a mixture of water and honey crystals. While this was going on, Kettu measured rice flour into a bowl and with water, rock salt, and little honey for sweetness. She kneaded the mixture until it was a doughy mass, then dumped it out onto the table and punched it with her fists to knead it further. Once the dough was done, both she and Thekka began to make little circles, which they filled with berries and pinched shut. They were putting the unbaked turnovers into a basket when Shad entered the hut, whistling to himself. He put his fishing pole and knife back in their places and turned to the two females.

"Now, that's what a bloke likes ta see when he gets home," he gave Kettu a kiss on the cheek and ruffled Thekka's ears, "his two fav'rite gals cookin' up somethin' delicious," he looked down at the turnovers and sniffed.

"Are those huckleberry?" he reach for one. Kettu smacked his paw with a wooden spoon.

"Look at you, ya greedy beast, yer as bad a she is," she waved a paw at Thekka. "Sorry, but you'll have ta wait till dinner."

She pointed to the kettle on the hearth. "If yer hungry, have some soup; we saved you some." Shad rubbed his stinging paw and grimaced, but his mind was soon on the soup. He sat down on a stump in the corner with his bowl.

"So, 'ow was the fishin'?" Kettu asked. The otter looked up from his soup.

"I'm startin ta b'lieve that those fish know it's me. Not a single nibble!" He sighed in frustration and shoved another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

"An' ow did the others do?"

Shad rolled his eyes.

"Oh, they were gettin' bites left an' right. Runka even lent me 'is pole; nothin! I finally dove in ta get one."

Thekka covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. The metal picture of Shad doing that was almost too much. The otter narrowed his eyes .

"Now, don't ye be laughin' t me, missy, or I'll 'ave that red tail a your's fer a fishin' lure."

Thekka grinned devilishly

"Ye'd 'ave ta catch me first, old timer." Kettu shot her a look.

"Thekka, that's no way to speak to your adopted father, now is it?"

"But 'e started it," the vixen protested. Shad put up a paw.

"Naw, let 'er be, Kettu; ye can't tell 'er right from wrong forever," he put his bowl in the wash tub and then went behind the curtain strung across the far corner of the hut. Moments later, there were loud snores. Kettu sighed and shook her head in dismay.

"Will ya listen ta 'im? Lazy as sunfish in the shallows." She smiled as they continued putting the turnovers away.

For the rest of the afternoon, Thekka did her chores. She brought fresh water from the creek, refilled the wood box, and patched up one of her worn tunics. Before Kettu baked the turnovers, the vixen also cleaned out the small oven in the back of the hut and built a fire. When she was done, she helped Kettu fill the baking shelf with as many turnovers as it would hold. By the time the last batch was done, Thekka's mouth was watering from the sweet aroma of baked huckleberries and honey dough. She thought it would be bad to just try one.

"Jus' ta make sure they're done enough," she appealed to a skeptical Kettu.

However, the otterwife's watchful eye and wooden spoon discouraged any pre-meal samplings. Both Shad and Thekka had stinging paws by the time dinner came.

However, it was worth the wait. Kettu made hotroot marinated shrimp for supper, with watercress salad and rice bread to go with. After the meal, Kettu brought out the basket of turnovers.

"Alright, ye can have one ea-" the ottermum hadn't even finished speaking before Thekka and Shad attacked the turnovers. Four were gone in the span of a minute. "One each." Kettu finished.

"Sorry, what?" Shad asked, his muzzle already stained with blue juice. The ottermum rolled her eyes at a loss.

"Eat till you burst."

* * *

Later that night, Thekka was lying on her bed. She lay there for a long while, staring up at the dark roof thatch and the glowing stars that peeked in through the small window. The warm wind blew softly over her fur. Thekka curled up on her side; it would be a long five days, what with the Bankpaws coming for the water sparring match, and she needed her sleep. She smiled and closed her eyes. The crickets began their moonlight serenade, their rhythmic chirping bidding her good night.

* * *

**So, Thekka is about sixteen right now and Bluepaw is 17. Kettu is 38. **

**Review =)**


	4. No Dreamless Sleep

**Okay, gonna make this a quick one.**

**Those of you who have been reading this story for a while already know that I give my sincerest apologies for making you wait this long. **

**In case you were wondering where the original chapter 2 went, I deleted it because I wanted to add more character development and things like that.**

* * *

The weather on the north coast was temperamental at best. The Zahir horde was no stranger to chill; they had always dwelled farther to the north. However, the cold here was made worse by the wind. Gusts blew up without warning, often bringing storms and drenching rain with them.

Tonight was especially bad. There was no rain this time, but the biting wind howled off the sea, raising waves and churning the waters so they rolled unchecked like some hellish beast. Any boat unlucky enough to be caught in the grip of the sea would be completely at the mercy of the elements. It was lucky for the Zahir that they were not corsairs.

In fact, this was what a polecat thought as he made his way back to the watch fire with a load of wood. His name was Marzda, and he was part of the motley collection of vermin who had joined the ranks of the Zahir as the horde moved north. After spending a better part of his life in the mid-latitude waters, Marzda had become accustomed to the drenching rains and wild gales that often blasted the northern coast. It was no different than a warm spring breeze to polecat had been a corsair in his early years, and he was no stranger to the power of the sea. Most of these creatures wouldn't have lasted a week.

Not to deny them credit, the Zahir were an adaptable group; strange sometimes, but adaptable. They quickly learned how to keep their wood dry and their fires from becoming welcome beacons for passing ships; vital skills if they wanted to survive here.

Marzda himself did not miss the sea. He still retained a gold ring in his left ear, the distinguishing mark of a corsair, but he had moved on in all other aspects. After his seafaring days, the polecat traveled inland to the east, throwing in his lot with various groups before finally joining the Zahir. Four seasons or so had elapsed since.

Marzda found that horde life suited him. He was used to taking orders and listening to the scathing tongues of superiors; though, what he experienced here was nothing compared to what he had experienced on the ship. The polecat was a quiet creature, not in the shy sense, but in the sense that he didn't consider it a good use of breath to use words when none were needed. Most times, a look was enough to get his point across.

This little quirk, coupled with his previous experiences, had made Marzda a favorite among the captains. The polecat had not planned for this to happen. In fact, he found it rather annoying. Being a favorite was often synonymous with being an enemy. Vermin as a whole were inclined to be jealous. In organized groups, where higher favor often came with extra privileges, jealousy could be deadly. Marzda was smart enough to stay away from such entanglements. He preferred the same privileges as his fellow hordebeasts; even if the food was horrible.

Currently, the polecat's duty was serving on the nightly watch. It was an easy enough job, all one had to do was stay awake; however, it was only as good as one's fellow watchers. Marzda was sometimes lucky enough to have half-decent ones, but not always.

Tonight, he shared the job with Arzow and Scatha, a stoat and a scrawny weasel. The three of them were supposed to be tending a small fire, a difficult feat considering the power of the winds. Unfortunately, a squabble had broken out on how the thing was to be started and Marzda had quietly left to gather more wood. He half hoped that the others would simply kill each other and he would be able to have some quiet.

However, the polecat received no such good fortune. By the time he returned, the task was underway. Arzow had won the argument and was crouched over a small pile of tinder, attempting to light it from sparks of his knife off flint. Scatha had been pressed into service as a wind breaker and sat on the opposite side of the fire ring. His resentment of the other weasel was clearly written on his face.

"I still think we 'shoulda done it my way."

The stoat rolled his eyes. "Well, it's lit now, ain't it? Or would ye rather start over?"

Scatha didn't say anything.

"Dats what I thought," Arzow fanned the flames rapidly and put on more sticks. Thankfully, it did not go out. Marzda set his load of wood next to the fire sat down on an open side to block more wind. Soon, the flames burned strong and the three guards huddled around, cloaks wrapped tight against the chill.

Scatha shivered miserably. "I don' like the cold."

Arzow looked up "Well, sit yer great bottom in the fire then. I'm sure it's plenty warm there."

The weasel glared at the stoat. "Yew sit yer bottom in the fire!"

Marzda would have gladly put them both in the fire, but he stayed quiet. The squabbling, however annoying it was, provided some comic relief.

Scatha growled under his breath, but finally found that he was more cold than angry and sat back, wrapping the ragged cloak tighter around his shoulders. He did not like Arzow, but the stoat was larger than he was and there wouldn't be much chance of winning the fight if one broke out. The weasel blew into his paws.

"Why couldn't we go south?"

"Little late for complainin', eh?" Arzow replied.

"The south ain't much better," said Marzda.

Scatha seemed surprised that he had spoken. Arzow, however, merely scoffed at him.

"What d'yew know, corsair?"

The polecat shrugged. "I sailed there. It's warm, but there be pirates an' gales an' sharks…an' diseases," Marzda paused, and was pleased to see the look of disgust that slowly appeared on Scatha's face. He continued. "Then, when you get on land, it's worse."

Scatha looked at him incredulously. "Worse?"

Marzda nodded. "There's sand lizards, big ones; an' they eat you alive if they catch you. There's hares an' badger lords too, in a great fire-breathin' mountain. Ye don't want ta mess with them, mate. They'll carve you up nasty-like."

Scatha had stopped listening after 'mountain'. The weasel's eyes widened as the polecat described Salamandastron, the great badger fortress.

"There's mountains that breathe fire?" he asked.

Marzda nodded. "Aye, an' melted rock and smoke."

Scatha was a small minded creature, and the idea of such a thing was beyond him.

"Is der really fire breathin' mountains, Arzow?

The stoat was trying to sleep. "'Ow should I know?" he growled. "Ye think I ever been to the southlands?" he chuckled to himself. "I'm sure they're real as flyin' fish. Now, shuddup an' let me sleep."

Scatha frowned. " 'Ow come you get ta sleep first?"

"Because, addlebrain, I started the fire; and if ye don't shut up, you'll be the one who's sleepin'…permanently."

Arzow fixed Scatha with a look and lay back down. The scrawny weasel quickly shut his mouth and moved a little closer to Marzda. The polecat wasn't particularly pleased. Arzow was a thickheaded creature, there was no doubt about that, but that didn't mean that he felt sympathetic towards the other watcher. Scatha was as bad as Arzow in the long run, just less threatening.  
The weasel was smiling at him now.

"Don't mind him," he said, "He don't believe anythin' unless he's sayin' it."

Marzda shrugged and put another log on the fire. He watched the flames absently, attempting to ignore Scatha as he rambled on. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Sleep was a strange thing, easy for some and tauntingly evasive for others. Even Ulvaey Greeneyes was subject to the evasions of sleep. It wasn't a normal occurrence for the fox, though the howling wind often made sound sleep difficult for all creatures in the horde. Tonight, however, the wind was nothing; there may as well have been none at all. The fox lay on his bed, eyes wide, staring up at the dark cloth of the tent. He was afraid.

To say that Ulvaey was afraid was no small claim. Fear as not part of his emotional makeup; every hordebeast in the Zahir knew that. And yet, here he was; the great warlord, afraid. And it was what he feared that shocked him the most. He feared himself; his mind, those strange things that materialize in the world of sleep, dreams. Ulvaey was afraid to sleep. For if he slept, he would dream, and his dream would be a nightmare.

However, despite the fox's efforts, he eventually succumbed to the protests of muscle and nerve, and his eyes closed. Darkness enveloped him.

_The mist came slowly; a great mass of swirling fog, impossible to see through, and so thick that it seemed to cling to the fox's limbs. The damp passed through him, sending shivers over his body; up his arms, down his spine. His very bones felt the chill._

_The fox was suspended in the oblivion, walking. On what, he could not say, for he could not see the ground. Maybe there was no ground. He moved ahead blindly, lost, alone. _

_Then, the mist lifted, blown aside by some spectral breath of air. The fox did not feel it and knew not where it came from._

_He stood in a forest. Great trees surrounded him; trees far bigger than any that grew in the earth. They were black giants, reaching up until they were lost in darkness. They had no leaves, only scarred, shadowed trunks. The fox expected some hideous ghast to rush out at him, but the darkness between the trees was as quiet and empty as a tomb._

_Suddenly, there came the sound of crunching. The fox gulped and took a deep breath as he looked down._

_The morbid sight below was enough to make the hair on his neck stand on end. Hundreds of pale skulls lay beneath his footpaws, staring up with empty hollows where their eyes should have been. One suddenly looked up at him and moaned._

_It was too much. Ulvaey Greeneyes cried out in terror and began to run. Skulls snapped under his feet, more and more joining in the otherworldly moaning. Some even bit him. What was this place?_

_Suddenly, the fox stumbled and fell. He lay still, breathing hard and trying to surpress his trembling limbs. He was in a clearing. The ground beneath him was solid; the blanket of skulls had disappeared. In its place was trampled brown grass. Ulvaey stood up and looked around, scanning the darkness for some means of escape from the hellish place. He saw nothing._

_Then it happened. There came a soft sound; like wind over swathes of grass. The being appeared almost noiselessly; it might have been floating. It was clothed in black from head to footpaw, its face obscured by a hooded cloak. Ulvaey knew it well. _

_"What do you want?" He screamed. The creature raised its head. Two luminescent blue orbs stared out from the depths of the cloak, fixing Ulvaey with such a stare that he stepped back._

_Slowly, the figure raised a paw. A whispery voice emanated from the darkness of its face._

_"Beware…_

_An emerald heir holds your demise._

_The one for whom they swiftly tread,  
No dreamless sleep shall grace his head.  
No peace for he who will not last to see another in his stead._

_Yet, do not be so quick; for you will not know until you see the skies._

_Then all will know."_

_The whisper echoed, suspended in the air like fog. Its warning finished, the dark figure reached into the depths of the cloak and withdrew a great sword. The blade shone even in the darkness, reflecting the ever brightening orbs of its wielder. The figure advanced, throwing back the hood concealing its features. _

_Ulvaey had never dreamed this before. In the past, he had merely seen the dark form and woke up in a cold sweat. Now it had spoken to him. The warlord backed away, more terrified by what he saw than what he had heard. It was no hellish, skeletal creature that advanced on him, but a mouse. A mouse in armor, fully garbed except for a helmet. _

_Ulvaey should not have been afraid, but he was. He turned to run, but the creature was everywhere, its sword always raised to strike. The fox stood frozen in the horror rent whirlwind. The mist returned, filled with claws that grabbed at his body. There was no escape._

_The mouse brought down the sword…_

In that same instant, Ulvaey was awake; he shot up, snarling, and then was still. His heart pounded wildly in his chest; his shoulders heaved. _It was only a dream. _The warlord was about to close his eyes when he caught a slight movement. The warlord slowly turned. A few feet away stood Nuvak. The brown fox stared at Ulvaey, frozen in shock. The two looked at each other for a moment before Ulvaey relaxed. He suddenly realized that he was gripping a knife. He must have grabbed it to fight off the spectral attacker. Nuvak's deep voice broke the silence.

"You alright m'lord?"

Ulvaey didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was clipped.

"Send for Uka,"

"M'lord-"

"Now. Shake her if you have to, but bring her here."

Nuvak was confused, but he bowed his head and left the tent.

Uka's dwelling was not far away. Even so, the captain's head swirled with everything that had just happened. Something was wrong. Dreams like this did not happen out of the scant blue; they were omens. Nuvak had never been a superstitious creature, but this was not normal.

The fox had come to relieve the first shifted guard, as was his routine. He had been sitting only a while before he heard sounds from inside the tent. They were sounds of a restless creature: tossing and turning and rustling. There was haggard breathing, and then the voice. Ulvaey was talking in his sleep. He was frightened and angry, yelling at some beast, asking what they wanted. Nuvak had raced into the tent, thoughts running wild, assuming some beast had entered and was going to kill the warlord. Thankfully, he was wrong, but Ulvaey was far from being all right. He jerked about violently, yelling and clawing at a nonexistent form. The captain was shaking him awake when the fox suddenly drew a knife from the floor. Nuvak had leapt back to avoid the blade. The warlord had sat staring with wild eyes, knife poised to kill. Whatever Ulvaey had been dreaming, it must have been truly terrifying.

Never before had the warlord been subject to dreams like this; as long as Nuvak had known him. Hopefully, Uka would have an explanation. If she didn't, Ulvaey would see to it that she found one.

The fox had reached the tent.

* * *

Back at the watch fire, Marzda the polecat was glancing at the dwindling woodpile. He thought he had brought enough the first time, but the strong wind had taken its toll on the fire, and they had been required to keep it burning much larger than usual. The polecat looked over at his fellow watcher. Scatha was scribbling something into a small branch with his claw. He gazed intently at his work. On the other side of the fire, Arzow was still sleeping. Marzda looked at him momentarily before returning back to the weasel.

"Go get some more wood," he said. Scatha looked up from his scribbling. He seemed ready to question the order, but Marzda gave him a look and he quickly got up and trotted back toward the woods.

The polecat watched him go. They did need more wood, but that was not the only reason why he had sent Scatha away. Marzda had seen somebeast moving in the camp, and he wanted to observe without Scatha asking him what he was looking at. The polecat wasn't even sure what he was watching for.

The movement had been outside one of the tents edging the camp; the seer's, if he wasn't mistaken. Everything was grey-black in the night, but Uka's tent was painted with curved symbols and whorls that distinguished it from those around it. It was difficult to tell at first who the creature was, but the polecat finally identified Nuvak, Ulvaey Greeneyes' personal guard and head captain. The fox disappeared inside the tent.

Marzda watched intently now. It was a while before Nuvak reappeared, but this time, he was not alone. A short, huddled figure appeared as well, and followed the tall fox toward the center of the camp. They moved rather quickly. Marzda frowned and continued to look even after they disappeared among the tents. A loud rustling and the sound of footpaws crunching on grass indicated Scatha's return. The polecat ignored him. He was still trying to wrap his head around what he had just seen. Nuvak would not wake up the seer in the middle of the night for no reason, much less of his own accord. He had been sent there. Ulvaey had sent him.

Marzda wondered what was troubling the warlord so much that he had resorted to send for his seer in the middle of the night. Surely he hadn't had a vision?

A large burst of sparks and smoke momentarily interrupted his thoughts. Scatha had tossed log haphazardly onto the fire, and the wind had sent the resulting plume right into the polecat's face.

"Watch it!" he hissed. Scatha cringed at the outburst and took special care with the rest of the logs. He didn't want to risk the anger of two larger beasts in one night if he could help it. Arzow was bad enough when he yelled. Marzda might have been a quiet beast, but his pointed looks scared the weasel almost as much as Ulvaey's did; and that was saying something.

* * *

Uka was not pleased about being woken up at all hours of the night. Even seers needed their sleep. The vixen was especially irritated because she had been in the middle of a vision. Now, to her distress, she could not remember it. Curse that fox for waking her up! Nuvak was surely only following orders from Ulvaey himself, but this did nothing to soften the glares Uka now gave him as they make their way through the sleeping camp. Even more aggravating was the fact that Nuvak hadn't even told her _why_ she was needed at all. Perhaps she would not be so angry if she only knew why Ulvaey wanted her. It was important, she knew that much; the warlord would never have called her if it wasn't.

They reached the tent without any words. Nuvak motioned for her to wait and went into the tent. He reappeared almost immediately, and held back the flap for her. When Uka entered the tent, the first thing she saw in the dim space was Ulvaey. He was sitting on the edge of his sleeping cot, paws folded between his knees. His head was bowed, and he stared at the floor in front of him. A lantern on the floor cast an eerie flickering glow over the warlord. He was so subdued; so unlike himself.

"You sent for me, my lord?" Uka said quietly. Ulvaey didn't answer. He made not move to look at her; he didn't move at all.

"Do you have dreams, Uka?"

The seer was caught off guard by the question. Ulvaey had stated it so straightforwardly. There was nothing to suggest that he was troubled about anything. Uka wasn't sure how to answer.

"Yes," she said finally, "Sometimes I do."

"Do your visions come to you in dreams?"

"Yes." Uka was trying to figure out where the warlord was going with such questions.

Ulvaey was quiet for a moment. "What happens when you have one of your visions."

It was Uka's turn to have a moment of silence. Ulvaey never asked her about what her visions were like. He had always gone with her testimonies as his father had done; he did not akways take them as law, but he rarely asked questions.

"My visions consume me," Uka said "I am part of them. I hear; I feel; I see." The old vixen's brow furrowed. "Have you had a dream, my lord?"

"Yes; and if what you say is indeed true, then it has been a vision as well."

Uka stared at the green-eyed fox, lost for words. Dreams were a common for any creature; all had them at some point. Visions, however, were different. They were not experienced out of the blue. They came to only a select few; she had learned that at a young age. Visions were not to be taken lightly either. They were harbingers, often of dramatic events to come; both good and bad.

Uka's visions, as most tended to be, were never straight forward in meaning. They came in the form of cryptic dreams, meant to be thought over and carefully considered. It was often difficult to decipher them, but Uka had many years of experience to go by concerning her decisions.

"What happened in the dream?" she asked. Ulvaey carefully related the events of the nightmare, up to the moment where the spectral mouse appeared.

"And it has occurred more than once?"

"Three times, not including tonight."

Uka wondered why the warlord had neglected to tell her before this. She may have been able to do something. Ulvaey seemed to read her thoughts.

"If you are wondering why I did not speak to you, it is because I did not find it strange," he paused, "Not until tonight."

"What happened?"

Ulvaey was quiet for a moment. "The hooded creature; it spoke to me."

Uka listened as the warlord repeated the nightghast's eerie warning. Immediately, a nudge of paranoia entered her thoughts.

"And you've told nobeast else of this?"

Ulvaey looked at her strangely, surprised by the curt seriousness of her voice. "Of course I have told nobeast. What does it matter?"

Uka chose her words carefully.

"My lord, if you truly have had a vision, then that hooded mouse is no friend to you."

"I know that," Ulvaey snapped. "If he was my friend, do you think he would try to kill me with a sword."

"He tried to kill you?" Uka sounded shocked. The warlord realized that he had not finished telling the rest of the dream.

"He brought down the sword as I woke up. I must have grabbed a dagger to fight him off because I had one gripped in my paws."

The seer suddenly glanced at Ulvaey. "What did the sword look like?"  
"Like any other sword; sharp, glittering. There was a large red stone in the hilt."

The last sentence was what Uka was waiting for. She knew this weapon. She had heard of it long ago, as well as the great hero who had wielded it. This was indeed a complicated matter. Apparently, the seer's face betrayed her thoughts.

"You know something about this creature, don't you," Ulvaey said "Tell me."

And Uka did. There was no reason to keep it a secret.

"The being you saw in your dreams is a great hero of woodland lore. A mouse called Martin the Warrior."

Ulvaey listened intently. That explained the armor and the sword.

"He lived very long ago;" Uka continued, "Lifetimes. It is said that he escaped from a warlord of the south coast and came north. He fought and defeated a wildcat queen and freed the woodlanders under her control. They rallied to him like he was their king. He hated war. He hated the death, the violence, the destruction, all of it. So, he had the queen's great palace torn down and built another in it's place; an abbey dedicated to peace and prosperity. It was known as Redwall."

Ulvaey had never heard of an abbey. He had never heard of this Martin the Warrior. He certainly didn't sound like a warrior. What kind of warrior hated fighting? That was what being a warrior was about. Fighting shifted power. It toppled crumbling leaders and established new ones in their place; stronger, more capable ones. Fighting had gotten him here, to his rightful place as a warlord. Fighting was necessary; everybeast knew that. Even this ancient mouse was subject to it. War had gotten him his precious peace and prosperity, hadn't it?

Ulvaey scoffed. "And this ghost-mouse; is he known to go around bringing nightmares? Does he now regret his hatred of suffering and make up for it in his death?"

Uka did not know much more about Martin the Warrior. She did, however, know that he sometimes spoke to his abbey followers in times of strife. However, she had never heard of him appearing in the dreams of any other beasts; much less those of a fox warlord.

"I do not know why this has occurred, my lord. However, I think it is wise to ponder Martin's words. If he is giving you a warning, you would be keen not to ignore it."

In his mind, Ulvaey wondered how Uka knew so much about a mere piece of woodlander lore. And why she felt it would be wise to listen to the obscure words of an thousand year old ghost. Still, the seer had been completely serious in everything she said; Ulvaey had seen it in her eyes. That was enough for him. The creature's words echoed back through his mind.

"_An emerald heir…demise…no dreamless sleep…then all will know."_

The warlord shuddered.

* * *

**Wow, I think I wrote the last half of this chapter in less than two hours. It just flowed.  
Hope you liked seeing Ulvaey all nervous. I really like getting into his head. Oh, and you be seeing more of Marzda in the chapters to come (if I can get them written down) If they could all just flow like this, that would be great ;)**


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